<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Oh, Dream's Dying by Goldstone_Wolf</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28636395">Oh, Dream's Dying</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Goldstone_Wolf/pseuds/Goldstone_Wolf'>Goldstone_Wolf</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Nightmare Chronicles [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Anyways, Fever, Gen, Hospitals, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt Tiny Bit of Comfort, Hyperpyrexia, Major Character Injury, Nightmare, Platonic Hand-Holding, Potion Use, Potions, Sick Character, Sickness, Sleepy Bois Inc as Family, Temporary Character Death, Unconsciousness, Whoo part two let's go, Whump, graphic descriptions of pain, loss of consciousness, not much, severe sickness, tws for:, ventilators, y'all wanted a sequel but this wasn't what you meant</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 12:02:58</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,917</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28636395</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Goldstone_Wolf/pseuds/Goldstone_Wolf</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Dream finally respawns. It’s not fun for anyone, especially since there’s only so much one can handle. Killing something that’s integrated with your very own code? There are consequences to that kind of thing.<br/>Major consequences.<br/>~<br/>Sequel to “Minecraft But Nightmare’s Being a Jerk”</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Clay | Dream &amp; Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream &amp; Technoblade &amp; Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream &amp; Wilbur Soot, Clay | Dream &amp; Wilbur Soot &amp; Technoblade &amp; TommyInnit &amp; Phil Watson, Technoblade &amp; TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot &amp; TommyInnit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Nightmare Chronicles [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2098296</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>391</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Oh, Dream's Dying</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Lol I’m trying to speedrun a Dream Team + BBH animation (it may become an SMP one, but I gotta work on this one idea first and the issue is the song I want to do is fairly long) and also speedrun doing three fics today (most of them are like halfway done), but my youtube channel can only have up to fifteen minute videos and I use it for basically anything so if anyone ever finds it (basically the same name as here), just know you’re going to get a lot of variety in what you take in. Like…a lot.<br/>Also don’t yell at me to take a break I’ve never heard of that.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>          Dream had been acting off.</p><p>          Everyone knew it. Still, when Tommy and Techno had gone after him, none of them had expected Tommy to come galloping back on Techno’s fastest horse, shouting that Techno had needed backup. None of them expected to see Nightmare and Dream as two fully separate people. None of them had expected the admin circle to prevent them from getting any closer.</p><p>          And none of them—<em>none of them</em>—expected Dream to die.</p><p>          Which was, as Tommy screamed and tried to run forwards, as Sapnap grabbed the young man and yanked him away, as the ruddy shades of blood and gore spread even further across Dream’s green hoodie, Wilbur felt only one real emotion. Shock. Shock that this could happen. Shock that their admin, the man who seemed capable of anything, could fall like this. Wilbur had seen the man fight like it was a dance, a death-grip tango to the backdrop cadence of iron on iron as swords clashed and the uneven and rickety tempo of arrows striking shields. Shock that the man who had defeated the End dragon time and time again, who jumped between worlds with the ease of the best of them, who darted from one opponent to the other with the grace so few had, could be struck down by an axe to the back from a man with, presumably, his own face. Shock that, at some point, someone managed to get close enough to Dream to do that to him in the first place. Someone had gotten underneath the layers upon layers of masks and facades Dream painted on every single morning. Someone had slipped past those defences. Instead of allowing that sort of intimacy to be treasured, though, they’d taken in and snapped that trust into something gnarled and twisted, bent it into the shape they’d wanted. Instead of making Dream stronger, they’d ripped the strength from his bones like how the sun had melted Icarus’ wings. Yet Dream hadn’t flown too high. No, no, he had not flown to the sun. This was something else.</p><p>          And it was what killed him.</p><p>          Perhaps not permanently, but it had killed him. It’d slashed his back open more than Nightmare’s axe ever could.</p><p>          Turning, Dream met Wilbur’s gaze and smiled weakly. <em>“Dream, what are you doing?” </em>He whispered, and Dream took a shaky breath. One of his hands was pressed to his side. Despite that, it didn’t hide the ruddy tones overtaking the green of his hoodie. “Dream!” Dream’s visible eye rolled back into his head, and he slumped to the ground limply. In the next moment, he was gone, vanishing into nothingness.</p><p>
  <strong>Dream fell out of the world</strong>
</p><p>+++</p><p>          When he came to, he was falling.</p><p>          Screaming, Dream felt the wind rip from his lungs as pain shattered through his very being, flooding every sense with red-hot, burning flames that crashed over him like a heatwave or a tsunami. Hands settled on his arms, burning him, and he yanked away with a shout of pain. Distant words hit his ears, solid through the white-hot haze of blood and injuries and Nightmare screaming in his ears. Gripping the sides of his head, he inhaled sharply, felt it rattle through the gaping hole in his ribs.</p><p>          Someone grabbed him, and he was flipped onto his back. Fighting, he slammed his foot into something soft, what felt like someone’s stomach, and kept shouting. He wasn’t sure what. Maybe he was just screaming. People were telling him to calm down. He couldn’t. He couldn’t calm down, he couldn’t breathe he couldn’t <em>breathe there were too many people in too tight of a space he couldn’t breathe. </em></p><p>          A large hand grabbed the side of his head and he clawed at it, still screaming and fighting desperately to get away. Nightmare’s laugh still echoed in his ears, the pain from an axe blade landing between Dream’s shoulders so fresh he could still feel the shredded gash across his back. Sobbing, he felt something press to his mouth, cold and held in an unyielding hand. Dream kicked out again, shouted as a hand pressed to the wound on his ribs. Something was forced down his throat, a liquid, and then the hand grabbing his head planted over his mouth and nose until he was forced to swallow.</p><p>          Immediately, sleep began dragging at his pain-seared bones. Staring up at the person above him in what he hoped was a proper expression of betrayal and pain and hate, Dream sucked in a few shaky breaths. Then he was too weak to hold his head up. Softer now, the hand from before cupped his neck, supported his head and pulled him close. Gradually, the pain started to clear just a bit as the effect of the drink—a potion—kicked in and he saw Techno over him. Somewhere, one of the kids was screaming, panicking. Next to him, Wilbur had grabbed his hand, tears welled up in his eyes. George was doubled over on the ground, Sapnap braced protectively between him and Dream. <em>Did I hurt him?</em></p><p>
  <em>          Did I hurt one of the kids?</em>
</p><p>Trying to surge up, he groaned and reached for his ribs. “Calm down, calm down, we’re going to get you to a doctor.” Turning his head, Techno ordered, “Phil, prepare a server jump! We need to get him to a specialist.” There was a murmur of agreement somewhere behind Dream, the rippling tear of the fabric of the universe as the planes between servers were opened. “Hold on, Dream.”</p><p>          “Yeah, you’ll be alright. You’re going to be just fine, Dream.” Wilbur reassured. Carefully, Techno pulled him into his arms, cradled him close. Fire split along the wounds marring his chest and back and Dream sucked in a sharp, rattling gasp.</p><p>          As they walked to the portal, he passed out.</p><p>+++</p><p>          Wilbur sat on the edge of one of the hospital server’s benches, knee bouncing.</p><p>          His other knee, currently, was being taken up by Tommy’s head. The young man had insisted that he come along (<em>probably because he’d seen Dream get struck down right in front of him; he couldn’t possibly blame himself, though, this was the fault of whatever monster had encoded Nightmare into Dream’s source)</em> and promptly fallen asleep the moment he’d laid down on the bench next to Wilbur. Techno paced the halls, the steady <em>thud-thud-thud </em>of his combat boots on the tiles a cadence that rang into the quiet chatter of the waiting room and the nurses.</p><p>          They’d been there for sixteen hours.</p><p>          Phil was off in the bathroom. Someone would have to message one of the others soon, tell them how long they expected to be gone. This kind of thing…well, Wilbur had never seen it. Despite that, Phil had. It was clear from the look on his face, the tight frame of his shoulders, the way he was shedding feathers when his wings were out. In a few weeks, Wilbur didn’t doubt there’d be quite a few white bars along the otherwise dark, almost iridescent olive green-grey that made up the vast majority. Sighing, Wilbur shifted forwards on his knee again, bouncing it harder against the tile and glaring down at the legs of the bench across from him.</p><p>          Someone had done this, willingly, to Dream.</p><p>          Some—some <em>monster</em> had wanted him under their control. They had wanted Dream under their thumb like some kind of toy. He wasn’t even sure who it could have been. Would Sapnap have known? <em>Did </em>Sapnap know? It wasn’t him, he wouldn’t dare. Besides, Sapnap hated messing with admin codes, he complained about it all the time. That was why George and Dream did half of it. (That, and the fact Sapnap was still trying to get his degree.)</p><p>          It couldn’t be George, or anyone else on the server. None of them would have dared—most of them were still nervous when Dream told them to let loose during filming scenes where he <em>had </em>to die. Either way, most didn’t have the same coding skills. Certainly not the kind required to make <em>Nightmare. </em></p><p>          Nightmare.</p><p>          When was he coming back, anyways? From the way Techno and Dream had reacted, this hadn’t been the first time. And considering that, he doubted it’d be the last, either. Eyes narrowing, Wilbur noticed the woman sitting across from him on the bench—a middle-aged lady with a brown bob, wearing a light pink dress, white tights, and pink flats—look around and then take her sneezing, wailing child away. He hadn’t meant to scare her, but…well, he supposed it worked out in his favour. He didn’t particularly <em>want </em>to sit near a screaming kid unless if said screaming kid was Tommy, in which case he didn’t have a choice. And usually, Tommy was only screaming when things were really bad (like when he was watching Dream get hit in the back with an axe) or he was laughing (which was loud, yes, but Wilbur much preferred it over the pained “no” he’d heard before).</p><p>          Phil returned and sat down where Tommy’s legs were, not even thinking before simply moving the gangly blond’s legs out of the way and letting them rest in his lap so he could use them as a bookrest. Techno continued to pace, frowning and huffing every so often. In Wilbur’s lap, Tommy started snoring softly. “I hate waiting rooms.” Wilbur finally broke the silence between the three adults, running his fingers through Tommy’s hair. Pausing, Techno snorted and then nodded.</p><p>          “I don’t think anyone particularly likes them.” Phil mused, turning the page. He and Wilbur exchanged a glance, and Phil smiled reassuringly at him. “Don’t worry, Wilbur. He’ll be fine. Dream’s strong.”</p><p>          Nodding, Wilbur turned back to Tommy and his thoughts.</p><p>          It was six more hours until the doctor came and fetched them. Tommy and Techno went to go get food, mostly because they all knew that Tommy not eating would usually end up with him sprawled unconscious on the floor and they didn’t need that on top of a wounded Dream. Still, as Wilbur followed Phil and the doctor down the corridor, he heard the conversation. It didn’t seem to be good.</p><p>          “We have him stable, but he has a very high fever right now. We can’t do much for him.”</p><p>          “Why not?”</p><p>          “Hyperpyrexia.” They stepped into the room, and Wilbur got his first glance of his friend since they’d gone into the darn hospital nearly a day earlier. And, well…</p><p>          Dream looked like a trainwreck.</p><p>          A fever painted his face, flushing his cheeks and anywhere his skin wasn’t practically drained paler than the sheets underneath him. There was a tube threaded down his throat, and he seemed to be completely unconscious. “What’s hyperpyrexia?” Phil asked, frowning. Something was said about fevers, but Wilbur settled down in the chair close to Dream and gently took his hand, squeezing once. As the conversation faded into the background, Wilbur took in the ventilator and the other life-support machines around him. This wasn’t good, not at all. It was bad. Really, <em>really </em>bad. Stroking Dream’s hair, Wilbur glanced at the ice packs and the hand in his grip.</p><p>          When Phil asked something, and the doctor hesitated instead of answering like he had before, Wilbur tuned back in. “It’s his code.” The doctor explained, glancing over. “Whatever happened to him…well, I’m afraid the diagnosis isn’t very good.”</p><p>          Turning, Phil and Wilbur exchanged a glance, and there wasn’t any hiding the genuine fear painting Phil’s face.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Okay so I know I said there was going to be a sequel but now this is starting to turn into its own thing, hence the creation of a completely new series. Thank you, and sorry. Now, if you excuse me, I need to go and eat lunch so I don’t pull a Tommy and pass out.<br/>As always, y’all are loved and appreciated and awesome and amazing. Thank you for reading, I hope you have a lovely day, and I hope to see you in the next one!</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>